What's probably going to happen...
... is that I'm going to spam your flists incessantly for a few days. Oh well. XD This is part of my Fic Organization/Masterlist Project, as well as just some epically long Jarlos fic for those of you who care to read it. Hope you enjoy!
Title: Take What Comes And Keep On Going (Five Things That Never Happened, And One That Did)
Author: Ellie (lyricsandhearts)
Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush, sadly.
Rating: PG-13ish, I suppose.
Pairings: James/Carlos, some Kendall/Logan, Jo/Camille if you tilt your head to the left and squint a lot.
Warnings: Slash, minor violence, AU, some ridiculous crack
Summary: "We have to meet. It's like... Like destiny, or fate. Or some crap like that." Five things that never happened to James and Carlos, and one thing that did.
Author's Note: I guess I'm gonna end up dedicating all my fics to at least one person, huh? XD This one is dedicated to Kait, because it was her Epic Birthday Present, Meg, because she is the best cheerleader/beta-type-person ever, and Tay, because this was inspired by her amazing Drake and Josh fic, Not This Way. I recommend that you read it, but I'm not going to try to link it, because tried that, and it failed miserably. XD
One.
You wanna be famous?
"I'm on tour. World tour! This is big. This is huge. This is fame!"
James turns around and grins at Logan and Kendall.
"It sounds good, doesn't it? Well, you know what? It feels good, too."
Logan smiles. He's struggling to keep up with James, who has taken to walking and talking extremely fast when he's happy. It's a recent thing, and nobody's positive where it came from (possibly from spending too much time around Camille Baker, an actress he met a couple months ago who has quickly become his closet female friend and does exactly the same thing), but it's a surefire way to tell his mood.
"I'm sure it does, sir," he says, adjusting the pencil behind his ear. He frowns, then sighs. "Shouldn't you have your hat and sunglasses on?"
James slows down somewhat, allowing Logan to catch up to him. Kendall Knight, his bodyguard, is still a few feet behind, preferring to keep a more inconspicuous distance.
Putting a friendly arm around Logan (Logan winces, because if James doesn't put on his hat and glasses really soon, someone is going to see and take pictures and it's going to be all over the news tomorrow that they're dating, which they most certainly aren't, but the media doesn't care), James laughs.
"First of all, look," he says, way too calmly. "We've known each other for years. I hired you to be my assistant because I know I can trust you with, like, everything. You don't have to call me 'sir'."
"Okay," Logan says, looking down at his clipboard to make sure they're on time. James has an interview at eight and rehearsal pretty much all day after that. It's only six, so they're good for now. "So, James, second of all?"
James keeps on grinning. He's rarely not smiling these days, which Logan is happy about, but he also doesn't take anything seriously, which worries Logan. A lot.
"Second of all, what's your damage with the disguise? It's not like I'm gonna get attacked by some stalker if I don't put on these sunglasses."
He dangles the glasses from his fingers and Logan rolls his eyes.
"Hey, this is New York," he says, giving James a look that says, "If you die, I'm not coming to your funeral." "Creeps roam the streets just waiting for a celebrity to mug."
"Nah," says James. "Besides, I've got the best bodyguard ever!" He gestures to Kendall, and Logan silently agrees. Kendall is the best at everything.
"Third, what's up with the clipboard?" James smirks as they finally reach the coffee shop that was their destination all along.
"It helps keep me organized," Logan says curtly, and James just shakes his head.
*
Carlos sits in the corner of his favorite coffee shop, reading Persons magazine. The shop is nearly empty today, aside from some elderly couple and himself. He isn't drinking any coffee today- his roommate, Wayne, swore he would kill him if he came home hopped up on caffeine today, and Carlos believes him.
He usually hates Persons, but today, James Diamond is on the cover, which is enough to make him want to read it a thousand times over.
Carlos really likes James Diamond.
Carlos is just a little obsessed with James Diamond.
Carlos is a tiny bit in love with James Diamond.
But that's only because he has such a good voice, and his music is so catchy, and he's not exactly unattractive, and-
Carlos is entirely in love with James Diamond.
But he accepts it as just a celebrity crush, because obviously, he's never going to meet James Diamond, and even if he did, the meeting would probably consist of, "Wow, Mr. Diamond, sir, I'm such a big fan-" "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to step away from Mr. Diamond. He's famous."
So, he lets himself get lost in his fantasies, in his imaginary world of fame and music and love and debauchery where he's with James and no one else and nothing can change that.
Of course, Carlos doesn't realize that his life is about to change.
The door opens, sounding a bell, and he doesn't look up; people come in all the time, and he's gotten past the point where he has to see every person who walks in.
But then he hears the voice.
"Uh, just a latte please, I guess. I need caffeine." The person laughs, and Carlos is frozen in his seat, heart beating out of his chest.
Slowly, shaking, he looks up.
Standing right there in front of him is James Diamond.
James gets his coffee, saying, "Thanks!" and grinning brightly at the cashier. She swoons and Carlos thinks, Oh crap oh crap he's sweet and down-to-earth oh crap.
He can feel the blood draining from his face, so he buries his nose in the magazine, nearly hyperventilating.
James Diamond is right. Effing. THERE.
James Diamond is right there and all he can do is sit there like an idiot, clutching a magazine like it's his life-support. This is his chance! Why isn't he acting on all his hopes and dreams?
Apparently, he looks as spazzy as he feels, because he hears someone say, "Are you all right?"
He may or may not be having a heart attack right there.
He takes a deep breath and looks up, trying to smile and kind of failing epically.
"N-no, I- I'm fine," he stutters, blinking furiously. "You. Uh, you're, you're James Diamond."
Carlos would slap himself would it not make him look even more insane than he already does.
James grins.
"Yeah, I am," he says with that beautiful voice of his and Carlos is seriously going to die right there.
"Hey, is that me?" James points at the magazine, grinning, and Carlos melts.
"Yeah! Yeah, it is you," Carlos says dreamily, then stutters, "Oh, but uh, I was just reading this cause- because-"
James isn't buying it.
"Nah, man, it's cool!" he laughs. "I'm just really glad you like my music."
And he sits down in the empty chair next to Carlos.
"I really, really do," Carlos says, a little breathlessly. How is this happening? "Your lyrics are so- they're so insightful, I just- I can relate to them really well, you know?" He takes a deep breath and smiles. "And your voice... I'm trying really hard not to sound creepy right now, but your voice is- it's really good. I love y- your music. I do."
"Yeah, people do," James smirks and nods. He has a sort of casual arrogance about him- not necessarily self-absorbed, but knowing that he's awesome. Which he totally, totally is.
James is looking at him with this weird expression, one he can't describe, and he's about to- to- do something, when someone clears their throat.
"Uh, James?" the guy says nervously. He looks utterly stressed; he has a pencil tucked behind his ear and a clipboard in his hands; he's wearing a sweatervest. "Kendall and I need to talk to you for a second."
"Not now, Logan." James furrows his brow at this Logan guy and turns to fix his gaze back on Carlos. "I'm talking to a fan!"
"Yeah, come on." Logan grabs him by the arm (he's surprisingly strong for such a skinny, harried-looking guy) and pulls him towards a tall, blond guy near the opposite wall. Carlos can just barely hear whispers of, "He's not creepy!", "That's what you get for not wearing your disguise!", "You never listen to anything I say!", and "If I were you, I wouldn't trust him."
Watching from behind the magazine he's still grasping for dear life, Carlos sees James break free from Logan, mouth, "Come on!" and storm back over to where he had been sitting.
"Sorry about that," James mutters angrily, staring down at the floor. "My assistant sometimes likes to go beyond assisting and control my life."
"Oh..." Carlos says, feeling like he's intruding on something personal. For the first time, James Diamond is a person, an actual person with a personality and flaws and friends and interests and everything else that comes with being a person, and not just a singer.
Realizing makes Carlos get this weird, squirming, not-exactly-pleasant-but-not-exactly-bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and the back of his brain. Why, he isn't exactly sure.
But he would definitely like to find out.
"Look," James sighs, "My assistant and my bodyguard over there-" he points to Logan and the blond guy - "They don't think I should be talking to you like this. They think if I talk to a fan, it should be an autograph request and over like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis. "But... I kind of like you."
He leans in closer, and oh crap oh crap oh crap and Carlos swallows and says, "Oh." He positively going to drop dead right there on the floor, and they're going to have to call an ambulance or whatever they carry dead people in right after they die, and while Carlos has been in an ambulance several times before (he's kind of clumsy- okay, and kind of reckless) he has never been dead before, which makes him kind of scared to be dead and in an ambulance at the same time.
"Uh, hello?" James asks, waving a hand in front of Carlos's face, and Carlos is snapped back to reality.
"Yeah? What? Sorry..." His voice is a lot higher than he would like it to be.
"Like I was saying," James continues, "I kind of like you. You're kind of cute, you know?"
How has he not already been reduced to a puddle?
"Hey, did I ever get your name?"
"Carlos," he squeaks, mentally berating himself for it. "C-Carlos Garcia."
"Well, Carlos Garcia, it's nice to meet you. Would you like an autograph?"
Yes, yes, yes, more than almost anything-
"Uh, sure! Where? On what?"
James looks around for a moment, considering options, before his eyes settle on the Persons magazine.
"This!" he says brightly, producing a pen from his pocket and scribbling something on a blank space on the back. He hands the magazine back to Carlos, waving flirtatiously, and walks back over to his friends, employees, whatever they are, saying, "See? Autograph, that's all, is that okay?"
Then, he leaves. Carlos takes a few calming breaths and tells himself, It's okay, it's not like you completely bombed it, you might see him again someday, while the nagging voice in the back of his head tells him, No it's not, yes you did, no you won't.
He's almost ready to scream when he notices that the autograph doesn't just consist of James's name.
Carlos Garcia-
Have a great day. See you Saturday?
-James Diamond
Under that, a phone number.
I have the best life ever, he thinks as he passes out.
Two.
Nothing's really as it seems, nothing but dreams.
Today has been a good day for Princess Merecedes. So far, she's had her father jail some peasants, recieved six marriage proposals, and had a new dress made for her by the royal tailor, so she is in an especially positive mood when she consults her mirror, expecting nothing but glowing praise.
She sashays over to the wall, smoothing her golden hair.
"Good afternoon, mirror," she giggles. "Having a good day?" She doesn't really care; looking back, she supposes that she always tried to butter the mirror up before asking her daily question, somehow assuming it would only make it flatter her more.
The mirror yelps.
"Oh! Oh, hi, princess," it says nervously, its glass swirling. "I didn't s-see you there... How have you been?"
"Oh, today is fabulous! And I know what could make it bet-ter!" She sings the last part, leering at the poor, defenseless seeing glass.
"Right, ah, well, why don't you say the magic words?" The mirror is obviously stalling, but Mercedes, caught up in her own joy, cannot tell.
"Oh, all right," she laughs and clears her throat. In her most grandiloquent voice, she questions, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the loveliest of all?"
The mirror does nothing.
"Mirror?"
Still nothing.
"Mirror!" Angrily, Mercedes kicks at the wall beneath it.
"Ow, hey, you're going to make me fall!" it complains.
Mercedes pouts and crosses her arms. "Then answer my question or I'll just keep kicking!"
"Fine," the mirror sighs, "but you're not going to like it."
*
When James wakes up, he's laying on the floor in a dark room.
He has no idea what happened, but his head is pounding and he can't feel his left arm, so he assumes that it was pretty bad.
"Hello?" he yells, "Is anybody there?"
Light suddenly floods the room.
Right in front of him stands an exceptionally pretty blonde girl, holding a candle and wearing the fanciest dress he has ever seen in his life (of course, his village is rather poor, so the fanciest clothes he had ever seen were made of burlap, and not silk, like this girl's).
"Hello!" she says brightly, waving. "I'm Princess Mercedes."
James's eyes widen.
"What? You- you're-" He tries to stand up, to bow, but can't find the strength to do it.
The princess keeps on smiling.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I just-" he stutters, not able to find words.
"Oh, don't worry about it!" she chirps.
There is a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"If, if you don't mind me asking," James says quietly, "why are you here? Why am I here?" As an afterthought, he adds, "Where is here?"
"Oh, this is my tower!" she says excitedly, gesturing around the room as if she's been waiting for him to ask all along. "It's where you'll be staying for the rest of your life." Nodding as if satisfied that this answers any questions, she turns to leave.
"Wait!" He manages to stand up, shaking and using the wall for support. "What do you mean, the rest of my life?"
She glares at him. "I mean until you die." Rolling her eyes, she mumbles, "I guess I shouldn't have expected brains from someone like you."
James shakes his head vehemently. "Okay, what is going on?" he demands. "Why am I trapped here, how did I get here, what do you want?"
She smiles again, and James feels suddenly terrified.
"Well," she begins, "I have this mirror. It's magical. It tells me who the loveliest person in the land is. Neat, right?" She pauses, waiting for James to reply. When he says nothing, she moves on. "Usually, this person is me." She tosses her hair, looking pleased with herself for a moment.
Abruptly, her face falls.
"But today, I asked the mirror the same question I always do, and you know what it said?"
She steps closer to James, looking him straight in the eyes. "It told me that you were the loveliest. You!" Slightly hysterical, she jabs him in the chest with her finger. "So, I had to go to all the trouble of having my servants find you and bring you here! Do you know how much work that is?"
Eyes wide with fear, James shakes his head.
"A lot!" she screams.
"Okay, okay!" James yells, greatly disturbed. "I get it, it was a lot of work to bring me here! Because... I'm... Prettier than you. Um. I'm... Flattered?"
"Don't be," she snarls. "You're never leaving this room."
"Are you going to kill me?" James squeaks, panicking. "Because- because I'm too young to die, I have things to do, I mean-"
"Don't be silly!" Her voice and expression are back to chipper now; she throws her head back in laughter. "I wouldn't do that, it's mean!" She turns to leave. "And besides," she says sweetly when she's halfway out the door, "If I kill you now, you'll be beautiful forever."
The door slams.
James has a really bad feeling about this.
*
"You want me to do what?"
Camille taps her foot impatiently. This is about the fourth time the boy has asked that. Doesn't he get it by now?
"We want you to go save the fairest of them all," she says, slowly and clearly, lest he not understand.
"Yes," adds Jo. "The prophecy forsees a young man in this year- whose description fits you perfectly, by the way- saving his true love from a tower: the one who is called the fairest, or loveliest, or, you know, whatever it happens to be."
"Uh, sorry," Carlos answers. "I know you're, like, fairy godmothers and all, and I'm sure that prophecy says all sorts of good stuff, but it can't be talking about me. I'm not interested." He shrugs apologetically and turns to walk away.
"Wait!" Camille calls after him, desperately trying to think of something to bribe him with. "I'll give you... Uh... A horse?"
Jo glares.
Carlos halts.
Yes! she thinks.
"A horse?" He turns slowly, contemplating the offer. "A nice one?"
"Sure! Sure, why not."
Still thinking, Carlos crosses his arms.
"I still don't know."
"He's really cute, too!" Jo puts in. "Er, the guy you're saving. Not so much the horse."
"Ooh, yeah, extremely!" Camille nods enthusiastically in agreement.
"He?" Carlos looks at them like they each sprouted an extra head. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?"
Camille and Jo share a glance.
"Now we're talking!" Jo says animatedly, grinning. "So? What do you think?"
He ponders for a moment, then says, "Eh, sure. It'll give me something cool to do."
Camille grins.
"We have a deal." She snaps her fingers, and a horse appears. "Now go! Save your man! And take a scarf, it's
cold."
Carlos laughs, gets on the horse, and sets on his way.
*
"I've had him up there for two weeks." Mercedes stamps her foot. "Is he any uglier now?!"
"No." The mirror shows James, scrubbing at the floor of the tower, coated with grime and dust, but no less attractive.
"This is isn't fair!" Mercedes whines, and the mirror slowly fades to reflecting. "I'm supposed to be the pretty one..."
"Why don't you just kill him, like he said?" it suggests. "Your father is the king, honey, you could just frame him for theft or something and get him executed."
"True," she sighs, "but I don't want him to die. Reason number one: I'm not a killer, that's gross."
"Fair enough."
"Reason number two: what if we got married and had kids? They would be the most beautiful children ever. Everyone would come from miles around to see them, and then see how beautiful I am, too!"
"Dear, I don't think he's going to want to-"
Mercedes isn't listening.
"Reason number three: if he dies now, he'll be this pretty forever. Eternally. Except when he's all... Ew. Nevermind." She shudders. "I don't want to think about that. Point is, it's how people will remember him. Ugh, this is so hard!"
She throws her hands up in the air.
"Why don't you just let it go, then?" the mirror asks, exasperated.
"Because I'm the prettiest!"
She storms off, leaving the mirror to wonder how it got stuck like this in the first place.
*
"Come on, be faster!"
The horse neighs tiredly.
"Please?" Carlos asks desperately. "He might die if we don't get there in time. Do you want to be indirectly responsible for murder? And I'm really sorry you're tired, I am too, but if we get there, I'll get you a carrot when we get home!"
The horse starts moving.
"Hey!" Carlos grins. "Thanks! I didn't actually think that was going to work." Shrugging, he looks around.
He and the horse (which he has named Melvin) are currently in what seems like the middle of nowhere: weeds dominate the ground, and thorny vines hang from every tree. There is no evidence of any human life at all.
Until Carlos sees the tower.
"We made it!" he exclaims. "We did it!"
They head towards it hopefully, and are rewarded by the sound of a male voice- a very nice male voice- singing.
"Okay," he whispers to Melvin, "how do I get in there unnoticed?"
Melvin, as to be expected, does not respond.
"Oh. Right. Horse. Hm."
He glances around, looking for something helpful- then he sees it. The box.
"Excellent."
He walks cautiously towards it, and when it doesn't explode or curse him, he picks it up and opens it. It's empty.
Box in tow, he leaves Melvin behind the tower where no one can see him and heads to the front door.
Wait, he thinks, what if they check it?
So he removes his scarf and stuffs it in the container.
When he reaches the entrance he is greeted by two men: an enormous, dark man, and a slightly-less-large-but-also-bulky paler one.
The huge man grunts.
Carlos holds up the box.
"Eh, fabric-a sample-a for ze preencesses's dress-maker," he says. He is not sure why he is using an accent, but it seems like an appropriate time to use one.
"Let me see that," Slightly-Less-Huge snaps. Carlos holds it out, and he grabs it, shaking it near both ears. He reluctantly hands it back. "Sounds fine to me," he grumbles.
The two men part and allow Carlos to pass through.
"Thank you, thank you," he says jovially, waving as he passes.
As soon as he's out of visual range, he makes a run for it.
"Where's the tower, where's the tower?" he mutters, looking down every hallway. Finally, he finds a door that looks promising, and runs down to it.
He jiggles the doorknob. It's locked. Cursing under his breath, he looks around for a key, and- no, that can't be it.
Of course Princess Mercedes wouldn't have the key on a hook right outside the door.
But apparently she did, because when Carlos tries it out, it works.
"Thank God it was that easy," he mutters, pushing the door open.
Obviously, the prophecy is at least half right, there, scrubbing the floor, is the prettiest person Carlos has ever seen in his life.
"Wow, they sure weren't kidding."
The guy jumps, startled, and looks up.
"What- who-" he stammers.
"I'm getting you out of here."
"But there are guards out the door, I've heard them, and the window is way too high to jump out of-"
Carlos runs over to the window and glances out.
"We're jumping," he says.
"What? No! Who are you?"
Carlos pauses.
"You know, they never told me your name," he thinks aloud, grabbing James's hand and dragging him towards the window.
"I'm James," says James, "and who are you?"
"I'm Carlos. And now you're jumping. See you in a second."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" James protests, but it's too late- Carlos has already pushed him.
He screams and waits for impact with- a horse? He was actually expecting the ground. Huh.
"Good job, Melvin!" Carlos yells, and jumps out the window himself, landing quite gracefully on the horse as well.
"Cool," he whispers, awestruck.
"Uh, sorry to interrupt," James interrupts, not at all sorry, "but now that I've escaped, shouldn't we leave or something? Preferrably, I don't know, fast?"
"Oh. Right. Onward ho, Melvin!"
As the horse breaks into a run, James grabs onto Carlos's waist for balance, and he swears he can hear Mercedes yelling, "Where did he go?!" from the tower.
"So," he says. "You saved me from the evil princess. Prince Charming?"
Carlos shrugs, smiling.
"Something like that."
Three.
But the life we live isn't so simplistic, you just don't get what you want.
"Hey Garcia."
Carlos nearly jumps out of his skin; everyone should be gone by now.
"What? It's just me."
Oh, great.
He knows that voice. That taunting, hateful voice.
James Diamond: star hockey player of the Bears. Known for almost never losing.
And being an extremely sore loser when he does.
Carlos turns around and sees the guy behind the voice- head cocked to the side, eyes glinting, glaring.
If looks could kill.
Sighing, Carlos leans up against the lockers.
"I'm begging you," he groans, "please go back to your own locker room."
James takes a step forward, silently daring Carlos to do something about it.
"Why?" he asks, feigning innocence. "I just wanted to congratulate you on winning."
Carlos takes a step back.
"Look, man, I know you're just looking for a fight," he says, "but I'm not. We'll both get suspended from our teams."
James keeps walking forward.
"It won't be worth it!" Carlos tries. He doesn't want to get suspended- he scored the winning goal today for the very first time, and he wants to be able to do that again, thank you very much. "I know for a fact your team would be crap without you. Do you really want to do that to them?"
Flattery usually works on James (even though it's not just flattery- Carlos has seen that team play without James, and it would be easy to just say that he's the star for a reason) but today, he seems dead-set on punching Carlos in the face, among various other places.
"I don't really care," James says plainly. "They could get by without me if they actually tried. But they don't, and that usually works for me."
Surprised that James is being so blunt, Carlos lets his guard down for just a moment.
"Looks like they're trying pretty hard to-"
Suddenly, he's on the ground. It takes him a moment to realize that there's a hole where one of his back teeth should be, and the taste of blood is filling his mouth.
He curses under his breath and spits into his hand, and, sure enough, he finds a tooth.
Carlos changes tactics.
"Look here, Sparkles," he sneers.
James doesn't flinch; Carlos knows people have been trying to offend him with that since the fifth grade. They obviously think that his last name makes it a clever insult. He doesn't.
"I thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt, try to let you see what you were doing," Carlos continues, "but apparently you're going to have to learn the hard way."
He grabs his helmet from his bag on the floor, throws it on his head, and growls, "Let's do this."
James, bursting into laughter, seems to find this to be utterly ridiculous.
"What?" yells Carlos angrily, trying to fasten his helmet while looking menacing.
It doesn't work.
"That is so intimidating," James deadpans.
"Oh yeah?" challenges Carlos, suddenly furious. James wants a fight? He'll get a fight. "Oh yeah? You want intimidating?"
And he attacks.
He isn't sure exactly how long it lasts, just that it's a knock-down, drag-out, punching, kicking, actual fight. He knows that by this point they both have to be bleeding and bruised and there's no way they won't get kicked off their teams for this-
But it's so, so worth it.
Carlos is just about to get another punch in when James stops moving.
Conviently enough, he's right on top of Carlos, pinning him down by the shoulders.
"Let me go," Carlos snarls, struggling, but James is way stronger than he looks.
Staring, he says, "You know, you're kinda cute. For a guy. When your nose isn't broken."
Carlos gapes.
He also gulps when he realizes how quickly his heart is beating.
"Uh, yeah," he answers, faking calm. "And you're... Very pretty. For a boy. When your mouth isn't bleeding. What's your point?"
James lowers his face a bit.
"I dunno."
They're kissing before Carlos's brain can process what's happening, before he can tell himself how wrong this is (how good this feels how right this feels), and it's all tongues and teeth and hate and passion and conflict and everything that's ever been worth living for and-
It's over.
"Nobody hears about this," James says on his way out.
"But how do I explain-"
"Nobody." And he's gone.
Carlos has no idea what just happened, or why his breath keeps hitching, or why fighting with James suddenly doesn't seem so terrible, but he does know one thing:
Hockey just got about fifty times more interesting.
Four.
There are so many things that I never ever get to say.
There's this guy.
Carlos knows a few things about him.
One: His name is James Diamond. Two: He's a new kid at Fellows High School. Three: He can't talk.
Carlos finds this out the hard way.
He comes to school on a Thursday morning, expecting a completely normal day. He gets out of his car, trudges toward the school doors, and stops when he sees his best friend Kendall leaning up against the brick wall.
"Hey," says Carlos, "ready for the science test?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Kendall sighs. "Logan was helping me study-"
"Ooooh!" Carlos interrupts, waving his hands around and giggling like a little kid. "Kendall's got a boyfriend, Kendall's got a-"
"Man, shut up!" Kendall laughs, punching Carlos playfully in the arm.
"So, what? You guys aren't going out yet?" Carlos sighs. "It's been two years."
"I know, but I've got a plan!"
Laughing, Carlos shakes his head. "You always do. Remember that time in second grade when Julie Fischer told the teacher you were-"
Someone taps him on the shoulder.
He screams and whips around.
In front of him stands a terrified looking boy, about his own age, who is-for lack of a better word- pretty. So pretty that Carlos has to catch his breath.
Which is kind of weird.
"Uh, hi..." he mutters, a little bit afraid to look the boy in the face "Can- can I help you?"
He nods slowly, eyes still wide with fear, and pulls out a pad of post-it notes and a pencil from his pocket.
Carlos is so confused.
He's writing... Writing... He pulls off one of the notes and holds it out expectantly.
Taking it gingerly, Carlos wills himself to look down and reads:
How can I get to Mr. Schmidt's class?
Relief and even more confusion.
"Oh! Oh, yeah, okay. You take the west hallway- you know where that is?"
The boy shakes his head.
"Oh. Well, I have him first hour anyway. I guess I could walk you!"
Always eager to help, Carlos waves goodbye to Kendall (who looks, for some reason, incredulous) and starts walking.
"So!" He turns around to face the kid, who is gawking around at the school like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "Today's your first day here?"
He nods.
So far, he hasn't said one word, so Carlos decides to try something out.
"What's your name?" he asks
The guy reaches for another sticky note, but Carlos grabs his hand.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "Do you have, like, larygitis? Because that would kind of suck on your first day, but I can check your schedule and if we have a bunch of classes together I can be, like, your translator or something until you get better-"
Before he knows what's happening, the guy is handing him another note.
I'm James. I'm mute. I already have a translator. What's your name?
Well, Carlos sure does feel like crap.
"Oh. I, uh," he stutters, blushing, "I'm sorry, I had no idea..."
James tilts his head and narrows his eyes, almost like he's appraising Carlos. Carlos does not appreciate this.
"Well, uh, who's your translator? Do you, like, do sign language?"
James rolls his eyes, and for a moment, Carlos is afraid he has said something horribly wrong, but then he reads the next note:
I suck at sign language. I just write stuff like this. Dunno why they gave me a translator. His name is Logan.
Looking up at James, Carlos narrows his eyes.
"Logan? Logan Mitchell?"
James nods, smirks, and walks into the classroom.
Carlos really wants to get to know this James guy.
*
He calls Logan that night.
"So why did they make you his translator-y person?"
He can almost hear Logan rolling his eyes.
"I believe the correct term is interpreter," he sighs. "And it's because I'm fluent in American sign language. And German."
"German sign language?"
"No, just German."
"So, what, is he German?"
"No, I just speak German. I thought it was relevant."
Carlos shakes his head. Oh, Logan.
"Anyway," he says pointedly, "I was talking to- um, conversing with him earlier, and he s- he told me that he hates using sign language."
"Yeah," sighs Logan, obviously disappointed. "I met with him yesterday afternoon. I kind of got that impression. I was looking forward to having a chance to use my knowledge, though..."
Carlos's stomach twists.
Stop doing that, he tells it.
"So... So you met with him yesterday?" Carlos asks, attempting nonchalance. "What's he like?"
"I thought you talked to him today." Logan sounds oddly suspicious.
"I did... But I didn't get to know him very well..." Carlos is kind of desperate, and he knows Logan can tell, but he doesn't care. "So? What's he like?"
"Well, he's..." Logan begins. There's a short pause. "He's headstrong. He says he's bad at sign language, but I don't think he is. I think it's just that he doesn't want to use it. It makes him... Different. Unique."
Carlos nods, waiting for Logan to go on, but realizes that he's on the phone.
"Oh. Yeah."
"And... I don't know, I'm no psychologist, but it seems like he just wants to be in control. Rebelling against the system-" he pauses. "Against the usual aspects of it- that's his way of saying, 'I can do what I want, so screw you, universe.'"
Carlos is shocked for a moment.
Then he snorts.
"You are such a psychologist." Rolling his eyes, he adds, "What else?"
"I dunno, he's nice? Look, man, I only met him once. I don't know much more than you."
Carlos exhales dramatically.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he mutters, half-smiling. "Thanks, man."
"Welcome. Hey, anytime you need someone to tell you everything they know about people they talked to for ten minutes, I'm your guy." He makes that awkward clicking noise with his tongue that he always makes.
Rolling his eyes again, Carlos decides to tell Logan one last thing.
"Oh, hey! One more thing, dude."
"Yeah?" Logan sounds wary.
"Ask Kendall out soon. You're both going to like, die if nothing happens, so get on that."
"What?! I don't- I didn't- we aren't-"
Carlos hangs up.
*
The next day at school, Carlos meets up with James at lunch.
"Hey!" he says, grinning, and James just looks at him. "Can I eat here?"
Glancing around suspiciously, James nods slowly, and Carlos sits down next to him.
"Sup?" he asks, mouth already full of chicken sandwich. James stares at him, appearing both disgusted and intrigued. He shrugs.
"Where are your post it notes?"
Picking his backpack up from the floor and throwing it at Carlos (who catches it, miraculously) James stands up, brushes off his clothes, and points at Carlos. He wears an expression that says, "By the grace of our Lord, if you don't tell me what all this is about, I will cut you."
"What?" Carlos holds up his hands defensively. "I'm just trying to be friendly."
James blinks and looks at Carlos with that same appraising look, and he suddenly seems to understand something.
"What? What am I missing?" Carlos does not understand any of this. At all. He's just trying to be nice to the guy!
James grabs his backpack from Carlos's hands and starts rummaging through it, appearing victorius when he pulls out a notebook and a pen. He throws his backpack to the floor, sits back down, and sets to work scribbling something.
Every few seconds, he scratches something out.
Finally, he sets down the pen and shoves the notebook in Carlos's face eagerly, eyes wide with anticipation.
Carefully, Carlos takes it.
Do you
Is there
I have
I like
You're
Maybe we could
I hear Deplorable Him is on at the movies tonight.
Carlos smiles up at James.
"Yeah, I think it is."
Five.
Won't you try, one more time? Be my any kid of girl.
Carla.
Carla, Carla, Carla.
To James Diamond, Carla Garcia is a marvel. A riddle. An enigma. She looks like a princess, plays hockey like a guy, and acts like... Like...
Like nothing James has ever seen before.
They have both lived in Minnesota their entire lives, and, outside of hockey practice and scattered hellos, they have talked to each other exactly three times: In Kindergarten, Carla yells at him for stealing her crayons (he's trying to draw a dinosaur; he doesn't know that she's trying to draw a family of dinosaurs under a rainbow). In third grade, she falls off the swings and Kendall makes James come with him to see if she's all right (James is opposed, because she has a helmet, and isn't that what they're for?; Carla is fine. She thanks them and calls James "Kid-With-The-Weird-Last-Name"). The previous year, in seventh grade, they're paired up once for a class-period long science project (Carla spills water all over James's favorite shirt; James only stops freaking out when the teacher reminds him that water is, in fact, water, and does not stain).
So when she skips up to his table at lunch one day, wearing that purple helmet she's worn everyday since the middle of first grade, long black hair swishing around, he tries not to stare. Frankly, it's kind of hard not to.
"Hi!" she says, grinning at him with brilliantly white teeth and flouncing down next to him. "I'm Carla. You're James. Let's talk."
Everyone at the table is staring at them: Kendall, Logan, even that cute ninth grader whose name he can never bother to remember. They're all gawking at Crazy Carla, probably wondering why she's talking to James, and more importantly, why James isn't talking back. It's kind of embarrassing.
James Diamond does not get embarrassed.
So, he turns back to her, flashing her his most winning smile, and says, "About what?"
She stares at him for a moment, surprised, as if she expected him to say something different, but continues. "There's a dance next Friday. Be my date?"
James nearly chokes on his sandwich.
"Oh crap! Are you okay?" yells Carla, shooting up from her seat. Muttering things in Spanish James can't understand under her breath, she does the only thing that makes sense to her: smacking James quite violently on the back.
Of course, he has managed to swallow right before she does this, so instead of dislodging any potentially deadly food from his throat, this causes him to fall forward and hit his head- hard- on the table.
Ignoring the pain- pretend that didn't just happen- he looks up to find Kendall supressing a laugh.
"Dude, you okay?" he asks.
"I am," James grumbles, kind of lying, because it actually did hurt, "but my hair's not." He sighs and runs a had through his hair, making a mental note to always remember a mirror.
From behind him, Carla makes a sort of a squeak that sounds a little like, "Sorry!" and hurries off.
Stupid Carla and her stupid back-whacking- or- whatever.
Logan, the mind reader that he is, shakes his head slowly and says, "She's weird, but the least you could do is give her a chance. At least she's kinda cute..." He shrugs.
"You take her then!" James says, irritated beyond belief. Kendall coughs very loudly.
"I," Logan points out, "am not the one she likes."
*
When James is home, he starts to think. All the other girls who asked him to the dance (he didn't ask anyone-the way he sees it, if someone isn't willing to come out of the woodwork to ask, they aren't worth the time) had made it extremely awkward, what with their constant giggling and beating around the bush.
Carla was... Blunt. And it isn't so much the fact that she asked that freaks James out, he supposes, but the fact that she asked so directly, in front of all his friends, which...
Oh.
James decides who he's taking to the dance.
He texts around for about thirty minutes before he finally gets her number, and sends her a simple message: r we goin 2 the dance or what?
It takes about twenty minutes before he gets a reply: Sure, totally! :D
James is pretty sure he has made a terrible mistake.
This feeling only expands when they don't talk at all until that Friday, when he starts freaking out about his hair (who is he kidding, his hair is always perfect), and is she going to wear that helmet? Because great, now he has to worry about his outfit clashing with it.
But all that worry disappears when she shows up at his door wearing rollerskates and shyly holding up a pair for him, and they skate into the auditorium, spinning and laughing like no one is watching.
And when she says, "Sorry I didn't bring you a helmet, I didn't think you'd want to mess up your hair," James is pretty sure he's in love.
And one.
If the world was ours, we would have it all.
"James?"
"Yeah?"
Carlos sits up on the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest.
"Do you ever, like, wonder?" he asks.
James looks at him curiously from the his place on the floor, smiling.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, what would happen if..." He stops to think. "Ooh! If we never became friends! Or... If we were born in the seventies, or, or-"
"Hey, I don't want to think about that," James interrupts, frowning. "We have to meet. It's like... Like destiny, or fate. Or some crap like that. And don't even get me started on the seventies. The clothes were frightening."
Carlos laughs, but he's still thinking.
"Okay, okay," he says, "But seriously, what would it be like? If we didn't meet right, or we were... Different."
"Look. I don't know," James sighs, standing up. "All I know is that whatever it is that happens, here, or wherever, or whenever, I'm always gonna be here for you, and-" he walks over and grabs Carlos's hand-"and I'm always gonna love you."
Carlos grins. "Sappy much?"
"Aw, don't you love me too?" James pouts.
"Of course I love you!"
They laugh.
There's a pause.
"... Nobody else is here."
"Swirly slide?"
"I'm so there."
And everything is the way it should be.
Title: Take What Comes And Keep On Going (Five Things That Never Happened, And One That Did)
Author: Ellie (lyricsandhearts)
Disclaimer: I don't own Big Time Rush, sadly.
Rating: PG-13ish, I suppose.
Pairings: James/Carlos, some Kendall/Logan, Jo/Camille if you tilt your head to the left and squint a lot.
Warnings: Slash, minor violence, AU, some ridiculous crack
Summary: "We have to meet. It's like... Like destiny, or fate. Or some crap like that." Five things that never happened to James and Carlos, and one thing that did.
Author's Note: I guess I'm gonna end up dedicating all my fics to at least one person, huh? XD This one is dedicated to Kait, because it was her Epic Birthday Present, Meg, because she is the best cheerleader/beta-type-person ever, and Tay, because this was inspired by her amazing Drake and Josh fic, Not This Way. I recommend that you read it, but I'm not going to try to link it, because tried that, and it failed miserably. XD
One.
You wanna be famous?
"I'm on tour. World tour! This is big. This is huge. This is fame!"
James turns around and grins at Logan and Kendall.
"It sounds good, doesn't it? Well, you know what? It feels good, too."
Logan smiles. He's struggling to keep up with James, who has taken to walking and talking extremely fast when he's happy. It's a recent thing, and nobody's positive where it came from (possibly from spending too much time around Camille Baker, an actress he met a couple months ago who has quickly become his closet female friend and does exactly the same thing), but it's a surefire way to tell his mood.
"I'm sure it does, sir," he says, adjusting the pencil behind his ear. He frowns, then sighs. "Shouldn't you have your hat and sunglasses on?"
James slows down somewhat, allowing Logan to catch up to him. Kendall Knight, his bodyguard, is still a few feet behind, preferring to keep a more inconspicuous distance.
Putting a friendly arm around Logan (Logan winces, because if James doesn't put on his hat and glasses really soon, someone is going to see and take pictures and it's going to be all over the news tomorrow that they're dating, which they most certainly aren't, but the media doesn't care), James laughs.
"First of all, look," he says, way too calmly. "We've known each other for years. I hired you to be my assistant because I know I can trust you with, like, everything. You don't have to call me 'sir'."
"Okay," Logan says, looking down at his clipboard to make sure they're on time. James has an interview at eight and rehearsal pretty much all day after that. It's only six, so they're good for now. "So, James, second of all?"
James keeps on grinning. He's rarely not smiling these days, which Logan is happy about, but he also doesn't take anything seriously, which worries Logan. A lot.
"Second of all, what's your damage with the disguise? It's not like I'm gonna get attacked by some stalker if I don't put on these sunglasses."
He dangles the glasses from his fingers and Logan rolls his eyes.
"Hey, this is New York," he says, giving James a look that says, "If you die, I'm not coming to your funeral." "Creeps roam the streets just waiting for a celebrity to mug."
"Nah," says James. "Besides, I've got the best bodyguard ever!" He gestures to Kendall, and Logan silently agrees. Kendall is the best at everything.
"Third, what's up with the clipboard?" James smirks as they finally reach the coffee shop that was their destination all along.
"It helps keep me organized," Logan says curtly, and James just shakes his head.
*
Carlos sits in the corner of his favorite coffee shop, reading Persons magazine. The shop is nearly empty today, aside from some elderly couple and himself. He isn't drinking any coffee today- his roommate, Wayne, swore he would kill him if he came home hopped up on caffeine today, and Carlos believes him.
He usually hates Persons, but today, James Diamond is on the cover, which is enough to make him want to read it a thousand times over.
Carlos really likes James Diamond.
Carlos is just a little obsessed with James Diamond.
Carlos is a tiny bit in love with James Diamond.
But that's only because he has such a good voice, and his music is so catchy, and he's not exactly unattractive, and-
Carlos is entirely in love with James Diamond.
But he accepts it as just a celebrity crush, because obviously, he's never going to meet James Diamond, and even if he did, the meeting would probably consist of, "Wow, Mr. Diamond, sir, I'm such a big fan-" "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to step away from Mr. Diamond. He's famous."
So, he lets himself get lost in his fantasies, in his imaginary world of fame and music and love and debauchery where he's with James and no one else and nothing can change that.
Of course, Carlos doesn't realize that his life is about to change.
The door opens, sounding a bell, and he doesn't look up; people come in all the time, and he's gotten past the point where he has to see every person who walks in.
But then he hears the voice.
"Uh, just a latte please, I guess. I need caffeine." The person laughs, and Carlos is frozen in his seat, heart beating out of his chest.
Slowly, shaking, he looks up.
Standing right there in front of him is James Diamond.
James gets his coffee, saying, "Thanks!" and grinning brightly at the cashier. She swoons and Carlos thinks, Oh crap oh crap he's sweet and down-to-earth oh crap.
He can feel the blood draining from his face, so he buries his nose in the magazine, nearly hyperventilating.
James Diamond is right. Effing. THERE.
James Diamond is right there and all he can do is sit there like an idiot, clutching a magazine like it's his life-support. This is his chance! Why isn't he acting on all his hopes and dreams?
Apparently, he looks as spazzy as he feels, because he hears someone say, "Are you all right?"
He may or may not be having a heart attack right there.
He takes a deep breath and looks up, trying to smile and kind of failing epically.
"N-no, I- I'm fine," he stutters, blinking furiously. "You. Uh, you're, you're James Diamond."
Carlos would slap himself would it not make him look even more insane than he already does.
James grins.
"Yeah, I am," he says with that beautiful voice of his and Carlos is seriously going to die right there.
"Hey, is that me?" James points at the magazine, grinning, and Carlos melts.
"Yeah! Yeah, it is you," Carlos says dreamily, then stutters, "Oh, but uh, I was just reading this cause- because-"
James isn't buying it.
"Nah, man, it's cool!" he laughs. "I'm just really glad you like my music."
And he sits down in the empty chair next to Carlos.
"I really, really do," Carlos says, a little breathlessly. How is this happening? "Your lyrics are so- they're so insightful, I just- I can relate to them really well, you know?" He takes a deep breath and smiles. "And your voice... I'm trying really hard not to sound creepy right now, but your voice is- it's really good. I love y- your music. I do."
"Yeah, people do," James smirks and nods. He has a sort of casual arrogance about him- not necessarily self-absorbed, but knowing that he's awesome. Which he totally, totally is.
James is looking at him with this weird expression, one he can't describe, and he's about to- to- do something, when someone clears their throat.
"Uh, James?" the guy says nervously. He looks utterly stressed; he has a pencil tucked behind his ear and a clipboard in his hands; he's wearing a sweatervest. "Kendall and I need to talk to you for a second."
"Not now, Logan." James furrows his brow at this Logan guy and turns to fix his gaze back on Carlos. "I'm talking to a fan!"
"Yeah, come on." Logan grabs him by the arm (he's surprisingly strong for such a skinny, harried-looking guy) and pulls him towards a tall, blond guy near the opposite wall. Carlos can just barely hear whispers of, "He's not creepy!", "That's what you get for not wearing your disguise!", "You never listen to anything I say!", and "If I were you, I wouldn't trust him."
Watching from behind the magazine he's still grasping for dear life, Carlos sees James break free from Logan, mouth, "Come on!" and storm back over to where he had been sitting.
"Sorry about that," James mutters angrily, staring down at the floor. "My assistant sometimes likes to go beyond assisting and control my life."
"Oh..." Carlos says, feeling like he's intruding on something personal. For the first time, James Diamond is a person, an actual person with a personality and flaws and friends and interests and everything else that comes with being a person, and not just a singer.
Realizing makes Carlos get this weird, squirming, not-exactly-pleasant-but-not-exactly-bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and the back of his brain. Why, he isn't exactly sure.
But he would definitely like to find out.
"Look," James sighs, "My assistant and my bodyguard over there-" he points to Logan and the blond guy - "They don't think I should be talking to you like this. They think if I talk to a fan, it should be an autograph request and over like that." He snaps his fingers for emphasis. "But... I kind of like you."
He leans in closer, and oh crap oh crap oh crap and Carlos swallows and says, "Oh." He positively going to drop dead right there on the floor, and they're going to have to call an ambulance or whatever they carry dead people in right after they die, and while Carlos has been in an ambulance several times before (he's kind of clumsy- okay, and kind of reckless) he has never been dead before, which makes him kind of scared to be dead and in an ambulance at the same time.
"Uh, hello?" James asks, waving a hand in front of Carlos's face, and Carlos is snapped back to reality.
"Yeah? What? Sorry..." His voice is a lot higher than he would like it to be.
"Like I was saying," James continues, "I kind of like you. You're kind of cute, you know?"
How has he not already been reduced to a puddle?
"Hey, did I ever get your name?"
"Carlos," he squeaks, mentally berating himself for it. "C-Carlos Garcia."
"Well, Carlos Garcia, it's nice to meet you. Would you like an autograph?"
Yes, yes, yes, more than almost anything-
"Uh, sure! Where? On what?"
James looks around for a moment, considering options, before his eyes settle on the Persons magazine.
"This!" he says brightly, producing a pen from his pocket and scribbling something on a blank space on the back. He hands the magazine back to Carlos, waving flirtatiously, and walks back over to his friends, employees, whatever they are, saying, "See? Autograph, that's all, is that okay?"
Then, he leaves. Carlos takes a few calming breaths and tells himself, It's okay, it's not like you completely bombed it, you might see him again someday, while the nagging voice in the back of his head tells him, No it's not, yes you did, no you won't.
He's almost ready to scream when he notices that the autograph doesn't just consist of James's name.
Carlos Garcia-
Have a great day. See you Saturday?
-James Diamond
Under that, a phone number.
I have the best life ever, he thinks as he passes out.
Two.
Nothing's really as it seems, nothing but dreams.
Today has been a good day for Princess Merecedes. So far, she's had her father jail some peasants, recieved six marriage proposals, and had a new dress made for her by the royal tailor, so she is in an especially positive mood when she consults her mirror, expecting nothing but glowing praise.
She sashays over to the wall, smoothing her golden hair.
"Good afternoon, mirror," she giggles. "Having a good day?" She doesn't really care; looking back, she supposes that she always tried to butter the mirror up before asking her daily question, somehow assuming it would only make it flatter her more.
The mirror yelps.
"Oh! Oh, hi, princess," it says nervously, its glass swirling. "I didn't s-see you there... How have you been?"
"Oh, today is fabulous! And I know what could make it bet-ter!" She sings the last part, leering at the poor, defenseless seeing glass.
"Right, ah, well, why don't you say the magic words?" The mirror is obviously stalling, but Mercedes, caught up in her own joy, cannot tell.
"Oh, all right," she laughs and clears her throat. In her most grandiloquent voice, she questions, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the loveliest of all?"
The mirror does nothing.
"Mirror?"
Still nothing.
"Mirror!" Angrily, Mercedes kicks at the wall beneath it.
"Ow, hey, you're going to make me fall!" it complains.
Mercedes pouts and crosses her arms. "Then answer my question or I'll just keep kicking!"
"Fine," the mirror sighs, "but you're not going to like it."
*
When James wakes up, he's laying on the floor in a dark room.
He has no idea what happened, but his head is pounding and he can't feel his left arm, so he assumes that it was pretty bad.
"Hello?" he yells, "Is anybody there?"
Light suddenly floods the room.
Right in front of him stands an exceptionally pretty blonde girl, holding a candle and wearing the fanciest dress he has ever seen in his life (of course, his village is rather poor, so the fanciest clothes he had ever seen were made of burlap, and not silk, like this girl's).
"Hello!" she says brightly, waving. "I'm Princess Mercedes."
James's eyes widen.
"What? You- you're-" He tries to stand up, to bow, but can't find the strength to do it.
The princess keeps on smiling.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I just-" he stutters, not able to find words.
"Oh, don't worry about it!" she chirps.
There is a moment of uncomfortable silence.
"If, if you don't mind me asking," James says quietly, "why are you here? Why am I here?" As an afterthought, he adds, "Where is here?"
"Oh, this is my tower!" she says excitedly, gesturing around the room as if she's been waiting for him to ask all along. "It's where you'll be staying for the rest of your life." Nodding as if satisfied that this answers any questions, she turns to leave.
"Wait!" He manages to stand up, shaking and using the wall for support. "What do you mean, the rest of my life?"
She glares at him. "I mean until you die." Rolling her eyes, she mumbles, "I guess I shouldn't have expected brains from someone like you."
James shakes his head vehemently. "Okay, what is going on?" he demands. "Why am I trapped here, how did I get here, what do you want?"
She smiles again, and James feels suddenly terrified.
"Well," she begins, "I have this mirror. It's magical. It tells me who the loveliest person in the land is. Neat, right?" She pauses, waiting for James to reply. When he says nothing, she moves on. "Usually, this person is me." She tosses her hair, looking pleased with herself for a moment.
Abruptly, her face falls.
"But today, I asked the mirror the same question I always do, and you know what it said?"
She steps closer to James, looking him straight in the eyes. "It told me that you were the loveliest. You!" Slightly hysterical, she jabs him in the chest with her finger. "So, I had to go to all the trouble of having my servants find you and bring you here! Do you know how much work that is?"
Eyes wide with fear, James shakes his head.
"A lot!" she screams.
"Okay, okay!" James yells, greatly disturbed. "I get it, it was a lot of work to bring me here! Because... I'm... Prettier than you. Um. I'm... Flattered?"
"Don't be," she snarls. "You're never leaving this room."
"Are you going to kill me?" James squeaks, panicking. "Because- because I'm too young to die, I have things to do, I mean-"
"Don't be silly!" Her voice and expression are back to chipper now; she throws her head back in laughter. "I wouldn't do that, it's mean!" She turns to leave. "And besides," she says sweetly when she's halfway out the door, "If I kill you now, you'll be beautiful forever."
The door slams.
James has a really bad feeling about this.
*
"You want me to do what?"
Camille taps her foot impatiently. This is about the fourth time the boy has asked that. Doesn't he get it by now?
"We want you to go save the fairest of them all," she says, slowly and clearly, lest he not understand.
"Yes," adds Jo. "The prophecy forsees a young man in this year- whose description fits you perfectly, by the way- saving his true love from a tower: the one who is called the fairest, or loveliest, or, you know, whatever it happens to be."
"Uh, sorry," Carlos answers. "I know you're, like, fairy godmothers and all, and I'm sure that prophecy says all sorts of good stuff, but it can't be talking about me. I'm not interested." He shrugs apologetically and turns to walk away.
"Wait!" Camille calls after him, desperately trying to think of something to bribe him with. "I'll give you... Uh... A horse?"
Jo glares.
Carlos halts.
Yes! she thinks.
"A horse?" He turns slowly, contemplating the offer. "A nice one?"
"Sure! Sure, why not."
Still thinking, Carlos crosses his arms.
"I still don't know."
"He's really cute, too!" Jo puts in. "Er, the guy you're saving. Not so much the horse."
"Ooh, yeah, extremely!" Camille nods enthusiastically in agreement.
"He?" Carlos looks at them like they each sprouted an extra head. "Why didn't you say that in the first place?"
Camille and Jo share a glance.
"Now we're talking!" Jo says animatedly, grinning. "So? What do you think?"
He ponders for a moment, then says, "Eh, sure. It'll give me something cool to do."
Camille grins.
"We have a deal." She snaps her fingers, and a horse appears. "Now go! Save your man! And take a scarf, it's
cold."
Carlos laughs, gets on the horse, and sets on his way.
*
"I've had him up there for two weeks." Mercedes stamps her foot. "Is he any uglier now?!"
"No." The mirror shows James, scrubbing at the floor of the tower, coated with grime and dust, but no less attractive.
"This is isn't fair!" Mercedes whines, and the mirror slowly fades to reflecting. "I'm supposed to be the pretty one..."
"Why don't you just kill him, like he said?" it suggests. "Your father is the king, honey, you could just frame him for theft or something and get him executed."
"True," she sighs, "but I don't want him to die. Reason number one: I'm not a killer, that's gross."
"Fair enough."
"Reason number two: what if we got married and had kids? They would be the most beautiful children ever. Everyone would come from miles around to see them, and then see how beautiful I am, too!"
"Dear, I don't think he's going to want to-"
Mercedes isn't listening.
"Reason number three: if he dies now, he'll be this pretty forever. Eternally. Except when he's all... Ew. Nevermind." She shudders. "I don't want to think about that. Point is, it's how people will remember him. Ugh, this is so hard!"
She throws her hands up in the air.
"Why don't you just let it go, then?" the mirror asks, exasperated.
"Because I'm the prettiest!"
She storms off, leaving the mirror to wonder how it got stuck like this in the first place.
*
"Come on, be faster!"
The horse neighs tiredly.
"Please?" Carlos asks desperately. "He might die if we don't get there in time. Do you want to be indirectly responsible for murder? And I'm really sorry you're tired, I am too, but if we get there, I'll get you a carrot when we get home!"
The horse starts moving.
"Hey!" Carlos grins. "Thanks! I didn't actually think that was going to work." Shrugging, he looks around.
He and the horse (which he has named Melvin) are currently in what seems like the middle of nowhere: weeds dominate the ground, and thorny vines hang from every tree. There is no evidence of any human life at all.
Until Carlos sees the tower.
"We made it!" he exclaims. "We did it!"
They head towards it hopefully, and are rewarded by the sound of a male voice- a very nice male voice- singing.
"Okay," he whispers to Melvin, "how do I get in there unnoticed?"
Melvin, as to be expected, does not respond.
"Oh. Right. Horse. Hm."
He glances around, looking for something helpful- then he sees it. The box.
"Excellent."
He walks cautiously towards it, and when it doesn't explode or curse him, he picks it up and opens it. It's empty.
Box in tow, he leaves Melvin behind the tower where no one can see him and heads to the front door.
Wait, he thinks, what if they check it?
So he removes his scarf and stuffs it in the container.
When he reaches the entrance he is greeted by two men: an enormous, dark man, and a slightly-less-large-but-also-bulky paler one.
The huge man grunts.
Carlos holds up the box.
"Eh, fabric-a sample-a for ze preencesses's dress-maker," he says. He is not sure why he is using an accent, but it seems like an appropriate time to use one.
"Let me see that," Slightly-Less-Huge snaps. Carlos holds it out, and he grabs it, shaking it near both ears. He reluctantly hands it back. "Sounds fine to me," he grumbles.
The two men part and allow Carlos to pass through.
"Thank you, thank you," he says jovially, waving as he passes.
As soon as he's out of visual range, he makes a run for it.
"Where's the tower, where's the tower?" he mutters, looking down every hallway. Finally, he finds a door that looks promising, and runs down to it.
He jiggles the doorknob. It's locked. Cursing under his breath, he looks around for a key, and- no, that can't be it.
Of course Princess Mercedes wouldn't have the key on a hook right outside the door.
But apparently she did, because when Carlos tries it out, it works.
"Thank God it was that easy," he mutters, pushing the door open.
Obviously, the prophecy is at least half right, there, scrubbing the floor, is the prettiest person Carlos has ever seen in his life.
"Wow, they sure weren't kidding."
The guy jumps, startled, and looks up.
"What- who-" he stammers.
"I'm getting you out of here."
"But there are guards out the door, I've heard them, and the window is way too high to jump out of-"
Carlos runs over to the window and glances out.
"We're jumping," he says.
"What? No! Who are you?"
Carlos pauses.
"You know, they never told me your name," he thinks aloud, grabbing James's hand and dragging him towards the window.
"I'm James," says James, "and who are you?"
"I'm Carlos. And now you're jumping. See you in a second."
"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" James protests, but it's too late- Carlos has already pushed him.
He screams and waits for impact with- a horse? He was actually expecting the ground. Huh.
"Good job, Melvin!" Carlos yells, and jumps out the window himself, landing quite gracefully on the horse as well.
"Cool," he whispers, awestruck.
"Uh, sorry to interrupt," James interrupts, not at all sorry, "but now that I've escaped, shouldn't we leave or something? Preferrably, I don't know, fast?"
"Oh. Right. Onward ho, Melvin!"
As the horse breaks into a run, James grabs onto Carlos's waist for balance, and he swears he can hear Mercedes yelling, "Where did he go?!" from the tower.
"So," he says. "You saved me from the evil princess. Prince Charming?"
Carlos shrugs, smiling.
"Something like that."
Three.
But the life we live isn't so simplistic, you just don't get what you want.
"Hey Garcia."
Carlos nearly jumps out of his skin; everyone should be gone by now.
"What? It's just me."
Oh, great.
He knows that voice. That taunting, hateful voice.
James Diamond: star hockey player of the Bears. Known for almost never losing.
And being an extremely sore loser when he does.
Carlos turns around and sees the guy behind the voice- head cocked to the side, eyes glinting, glaring.
If looks could kill.
Sighing, Carlos leans up against the lockers.
"I'm begging you," he groans, "please go back to your own locker room."
James takes a step forward, silently daring Carlos to do something about it.
"Why?" he asks, feigning innocence. "I just wanted to congratulate you on winning."
Carlos takes a step back.
"Look, man, I know you're just looking for a fight," he says, "but I'm not. We'll both get suspended from our teams."
James keeps walking forward.
"It won't be worth it!" Carlos tries. He doesn't want to get suspended- he scored the winning goal today for the very first time, and he wants to be able to do that again, thank you very much. "I know for a fact your team would be crap without you. Do you really want to do that to them?"
Flattery usually works on James (even though it's not just flattery- Carlos has seen that team play without James, and it would be easy to just say that he's the star for a reason) but today, he seems dead-set on punching Carlos in the face, among various other places.
"I don't really care," James says plainly. "They could get by without me if they actually tried. But they don't, and that usually works for me."
Surprised that James is being so blunt, Carlos lets his guard down for just a moment.
"Looks like they're trying pretty hard to-"
Suddenly, he's on the ground. It takes him a moment to realize that there's a hole where one of his back teeth should be, and the taste of blood is filling his mouth.
He curses under his breath and spits into his hand, and, sure enough, he finds a tooth.
Carlos changes tactics.
"Look here, Sparkles," he sneers.
James doesn't flinch; Carlos knows people have been trying to offend him with that since the fifth grade. They obviously think that his last name makes it a clever insult. He doesn't.
"I thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt, try to let you see what you were doing," Carlos continues, "but apparently you're going to have to learn the hard way."
He grabs his helmet from his bag on the floor, throws it on his head, and growls, "Let's do this."
James, bursting into laughter, seems to find this to be utterly ridiculous.
"What?" yells Carlos angrily, trying to fasten his helmet while looking menacing.
It doesn't work.
"That is so intimidating," James deadpans.
"Oh yeah?" challenges Carlos, suddenly furious. James wants a fight? He'll get a fight. "Oh yeah? You want intimidating?"
And he attacks.
He isn't sure exactly how long it lasts, just that it's a knock-down, drag-out, punching, kicking, actual fight. He knows that by this point they both have to be bleeding and bruised and there's no way they won't get kicked off their teams for this-
But it's so, so worth it.
Carlos is just about to get another punch in when James stops moving.
Conviently enough, he's right on top of Carlos, pinning him down by the shoulders.
"Let me go," Carlos snarls, struggling, but James is way stronger than he looks.
Staring, he says, "You know, you're kinda cute. For a guy. When your nose isn't broken."
Carlos gapes.
He also gulps when he realizes how quickly his heart is beating.
"Uh, yeah," he answers, faking calm. "And you're... Very pretty. For a boy. When your mouth isn't bleeding. What's your point?"
James lowers his face a bit.
"I dunno."
They're kissing before Carlos's brain can process what's happening, before he can tell himself how wrong this is (how good this feels how right this feels), and it's all tongues and teeth and hate and passion and conflict and everything that's ever been worth living for and-
It's over.
"Nobody hears about this," James says on his way out.
"But how do I explain-"
"Nobody." And he's gone.
Carlos has no idea what just happened, or why his breath keeps hitching, or why fighting with James suddenly doesn't seem so terrible, but he does know one thing:
Hockey just got about fifty times more interesting.
Four.
There are so many things that I never ever get to say.
There's this guy.
Carlos knows a few things about him.
One: His name is James Diamond. Two: He's a new kid at Fellows High School. Three: He can't talk.
Carlos finds this out the hard way.
He comes to school on a Thursday morning, expecting a completely normal day. He gets out of his car, trudges toward the school doors, and stops when he sees his best friend Kendall leaning up against the brick wall.
"Hey," says Carlos, "ready for the science test?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Kendall sighs. "Logan was helping me study-"
"Ooooh!" Carlos interrupts, waving his hands around and giggling like a little kid. "Kendall's got a boyfriend, Kendall's got a-"
"Man, shut up!" Kendall laughs, punching Carlos playfully in the arm.
"So, what? You guys aren't going out yet?" Carlos sighs. "It's been two years."
"I know, but I've got a plan!"
Laughing, Carlos shakes his head. "You always do. Remember that time in second grade when Julie Fischer told the teacher you were-"
Someone taps him on the shoulder.
He screams and whips around.
In front of him stands a terrified looking boy, about his own age, who is-for lack of a better word- pretty. So pretty that Carlos has to catch his breath.
Which is kind of weird.
"Uh, hi..." he mutters, a little bit afraid to look the boy in the face "Can- can I help you?"
He nods slowly, eyes still wide with fear, and pulls out a pad of post-it notes and a pencil from his pocket.
Carlos is so confused.
He's writing... Writing... He pulls off one of the notes and holds it out expectantly.
Taking it gingerly, Carlos wills himself to look down and reads:
How can I get to Mr. Schmidt's class?
Relief and even more confusion.
"Oh! Oh, yeah, okay. You take the west hallway- you know where that is?"
The boy shakes his head.
"Oh. Well, I have him first hour anyway. I guess I could walk you!"
Always eager to help, Carlos waves goodbye to Kendall (who looks, for some reason, incredulous) and starts walking.
"So!" He turns around to face the kid, who is gawking around at the school like it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen. "Today's your first day here?"
He nods.
So far, he hasn't said one word, so Carlos decides to try something out.
"What's your name?" he asks
The guy reaches for another sticky note, but Carlos grabs his hand.
"Are you okay?" he asks. "Do you have, like, larygitis? Because that would kind of suck on your first day, but I can check your schedule and if we have a bunch of classes together I can be, like, your translator or something until you get better-"
Before he knows what's happening, the guy is handing him another note.
I'm James. I'm mute. I already have a translator. What's your name?
Well, Carlos sure does feel like crap.
"Oh. I, uh," he stutters, blushing, "I'm sorry, I had no idea..."
James tilts his head and narrows his eyes, almost like he's appraising Carlos. Carlos does not appreciate this.
"Well, uh, who's your translator? Do you, like, do sign language?"
James rolls his eyes, and for a moment, Carlos is afraid he has said something horribly wrong, but then he reads the next note:
I suck at sign language. I just write stuff like this. Dunno why they gave me a translator. His name is Logan.
Looking up at James, Carlos narrows his eyes.
"Logan? Logan Mitchell?"
James nods, smirks, and walks into the classroom.
Carlos really wants to get to know this James guy.
*
He calls Logan that night.
"So why did they make you his translator-y person?"
He can almost hear Logan rolling his eyes.
"I believe the correct term is interpreter," he sighs. "And it's because I'm fluent in American sign language. And German."
"German sign language?"
"No, just German."
"So, what, is he German?"
"No, I just speak German. I thought it was relevant."
Carlos shakes his head. Oh, Logan.
"Anyway," he says pointedly, "I was talking to- um, conversing with him earlier, and he s- he told me that he hates using sign language."
"Yeah," sighs Logan, obviously disappointed. "I met with him yesterday afternoon. I kind of got that impression. I was looking forward to having a chance to use my knowledge, though..."
Carlos's stomach twists.
Stop doing that, he tells it.
"So... So you met with him yesterday?" Carlos asks, attempting nonchalance. "What's he like?"
"I thought you talked to him today." Logan sounds oddly suspicious.
"I did... But I didn't get to know him very well..." Carlos is kind of desperate, and he knows Logan can tell, but he doesn't care. "So? What's he like?"
"Well, he's..." Logan begins. There's a short pause. "He's headstrong. He says he's bad at sign language, but I don't think he is. I think it's just that he doesn't want to use it. It makes him... Different. Unique."
Carlos nods, waiting for Logan to go on, but realizes that he's on the phone.
"Oh. Yeah."
"And... I don't know, I'm no psychologist, but it seems like he just wants to be in control. Rebelling against the system-" he pauses. "Against the usual aspects of it- that's his way of saying, 'I can do what I want, so screw you, universe.'"
Carlos is shocked for a moment.
Then he snorts.
"You are such a psychologist." Rolling his eyes, he adds, "What else?"
"I dunno, he's nice? Look, man, I only met him once. I don't know much more than you."
Carlos exhales dramatically.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he mutters, half-smiling. "Thanks, man."
"Welcome. Hey, anytime you need someone to tell you everything they know about people they talked to for ten minutes, I'm your guy." He makes that awkward clicking noise with his tongue that he always makes.
Rolling his eyes again, Carlos decides to tell Logan one last thing.
"Oh, hey! One more thing, dude."
"Yeah?" Logan sounds wary.
"Ask Kendall out soon. You're both going to like, die if nothing happens, so get on that."
"What?! I don't- I didn't- we aren't-"
Carlos hangs up.
*
The next day at school, Carlos meets up with James at lunch.
"Hey!" he says, grinning, and James just looks at him. "Can I eat here?"
Glancing around suspiciously, James nods slowly, and Carlos sits down next to him.
"Sup?" he asks, mouth already full of chicken sandwich. James stares at him, appearing both disgusted and intrigued. He shrugs.
"Where are your post it notes?"
Picking his backpack up from the floor and throwing it at Carlos (who catches it, miraculously) James stands up, brushes off his clothes, and points at Carlos. He wears an expression that says, "By the grace of our Lord, if you don't tell me what all this is about, I will cut you."
"What?" Carlos holds up his hands defensively. "I'm just trying to be friendly."
James blinks and looks at Carlos with that same appraising look, and he suddenly seems to understand something.
"What? What am I missing?" Carlos does not understand any of this. At all. He's just trying to be nice to the guy!
James grabs his backpack from Carlos's hands and starts rummaging through it, appearing victorius when he pulls out a notebook and a pen. He throws his backpack to the floor, sits back down, and sets to work scribbling something.
Every few seconds, he scratches something out.
Finally, he sets down the pen and shoves the notebook in Carlos's face eagerly, eyes wide with anticipation.
Carefully, Carlos takes it.
Do you
Is there
I have
I like
You're
Maybe we could
I hear Deplorable Him is on at the movies tonight.
Carlos smiles up at James.
"Yeah, I think it is."
Five.
Won't you try, one more time? Be my any kid of girl.
Carla.
Carla, Carla, Carla.
To James Diamond, Carla Garcia is a marvel. A riddle. An enigma. She looks like a princess, plays hockey like a guy, and acts like... Like...
Like nothing James has ever seen before.
They have both lived in Minnesota their entire lives, and, outside of hockey practice and scattered hellos, they have talked to each other exactly three times: In Kindergarten, Carla yells at him for stealing her crayons (he's trying to draw a dinosaur; he doesn't know that she's trying to draw a family of dinosaurs under a rainbow). In third grade, she falls off the swings and Kendall makes James come with him to see if she's all right (James is opposed, because she has a helmet, and isn't that what they're for?; Carla is fine. She thanks them and calls James "Kid-With-The-Weird-Last-Name"). The previous year, in seventh grade, they're paired up once for a class-period long science project (Carla spills water all over James's favorite shirt; James only stops freaking out when the teacher reminds him that water is, in fact, water, and does not stain).
So when she skips up to his table at lunch one day, wearing that purple helmet she's worn everyday since the middle of first grade, long black hair swishing around, he tries not to stare. Frankly, it's kind of hard not to.
"Hi!" she says, grinning at him with brilliantly white teeth and flouncing down next to him. "I'm Carla. You're James. Let's talk."
Everyone at the table is staring at them: Kendall, Logan, even that cute ninth grader whose name he can never bother to remember. They're all gawking at Crazy Carla, probably wondering why she's talking to James, and more importantly, why James isn't talking back. It's kind of embarrassing.
James Diamond does not get embarrassed.
So, he turns back to her, flashing her his most winning smile, and says, "About what?"
She stares at him for a moment, surprised, as if she expected him to say something different, but continues. "There's a dance next Friday. Be my date?"
James nearly chokes on his sandwich.
"Oh crap! Are you okay?" yells Carla, shooting up from her seat. Muttering things in Spanish James can't understand under her breath, she does the only thing that makes sense to her: smacking James quite violently on the back.
Of course, he has managed to swallow right before she does this, so instead of dislodging any potentially deadly food from his throat, this causes him to fall forward and hit his head- hard- on the table.
Ignoring the pain- pretend that didn't just happen- he looks up to find Kendall supressing a laugh.
"Dude, you okay?" he asks.
"I am," James grumbles, kind of lying, because it actually did hurt, "but my hair's not." He sighs and runs a had through his hair, making a mental note to always remember a mirror.
From behind him, Carla makes a sort of a squeak that sounds a little like, "Sorry!" and hurries off.
Stupid Carla and her stupid back-whacking- or- whatever.
Logan, the mind reader that he is, shakes his head slowly and says, "She's weird, but the least you could do is give her a chance. At least she's kinda cute..." He shrugs.
"You take her then!" James says, irritated beyond belief. Kendall coughs very loudly.
"I," Logan points out, "am not the one she likes."
*
When James is home, he starts to think. All the other girls who asked him to the dance (he didn't ask anyone-the way he sees it, if someone isn't willing to come out of the woodwork to ask, they aren't worth the time) had made it extremely awkward, what with their constant giggling and beating around the bush.
Carla was... Blunt. And it isn't so much the fact that she asked that freaks James out, he supposes, but the fact that she asked so directly, in front of all his friends, which...
Oh.
James decides who he's taking to the dance.
He texts around for about thirty minutes before he finally gets her number, and sends her a simple message: r we goin 2 the dance or what?
It takes about twenty minutes before he gets a reply: Sure, totally! :D
James is pretty sure he has made a terrible mistake.
This feeling only expands when they don't talk at all until that Friday, when he starts freaking out about his hair (who is he kidding, his hair is always perfect), and is she going to wear that helmet? Because great, now he has to worry about his outfit clashing with it.
But all that worry disappears when she shows up at his door wearing rollerskates and shyly holding up a pair for him, and they skate into the auditorium, spinning and laughing like no one is watching.
And when she says, "Sorry I didn't bring you a helmet, I didn't think you'd want to mess up your hair," James is pretty sure he's in love.
And one.
If the world was ours, we would have it all.
"James?"
"Yeah?"
Carlos sits up on the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest.
"Do you ever, like, wonder?" he asks.
James looks at him curiously from the his place on the floor, smiling.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, what would happen if..." He stops to think. "Ooh! If we never became friends! Or... If we were born in the seventies, or, or-"
"Hey, I don't want to think about that," James interrupts, frowning. "We have to meet. It's like... Like destiny, or fate. Or some crap like that. And don't even get me started on the seventies. The clothes were frightening."
Carlos laughs, but he's still thinking.
"Okay, okay," he says, "But seriously, what would it be like? If we didn't meet right, or we were... Different."
"Look. I don't know," James sighs, standing up. "All I know is that whatever it is that happens, here, or wherever, or whenever, I'm always gonna be here for you, and-" he walks over and grabs Carlos's hand-"and I'm always gonna love you."
Carlos grins. "Sappy much?"
"Aw, don't you love me too?" James pouts.
"Of course I love you!"
They laugh.
There's a pause.
"... Nobody else is here."
"Swirly slide?"
"I'm so there."
And everything is the way it should be.